


The Waltz Of The Monsters

by iamamiwhoami



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Battle, Bittersweet, Blood, Dark One Emma Swan, Evil Queen - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, The Enchanted Forest (Once Upon a Time)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22789963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamamiwhoami/pseuds/iamamiwhoami
Summary: To find beauty underneath something that's supposed to be hideous.
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 51





	The Waltz Of The Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> Salut, guys. 
> 
> I'm not sure what this story means. I truly don't. This... Fragment of something is deliberately inspired by Yann Tiersen's masterpiece, "The Waltz of the Monsters". 
> 
> As usual, english is not my native language and I hope your patience.
> 
> Wish you a good reading. :)

In the evening darkness of the dead willow forest, Emma looks at the fresh red paint poster in her hands and bends her head like a curious bird, the white smile lost on her pale, youthful and contemptuous face, looking diabolical, but pure and intense funny about how the enemy kingdom painted her with sharp teeth and yellow eyes, which is foolish considering that her sharpest teeth are the little canines and her eyes were still green the last time she checked.

They also drew her body as if it were a burnt, long and bizarre scarecrow, but she still feels the same height and luckily her skin, which becomes scaly only in moments of fury, is not yet on fire, because she is really good at dodging Regina's fireballs when the Queen is very furious.

She takes a walk around herself to make sure the leather pants are intact under the black cloak and her bottom is not burned, however.

You never know.

There is a poster for Regina too, much more truthful and intimidating than hers and, contemplating it as well, she must admit they managed to portray the Queen almost as stunning as she truly is. They are nothing more than a bunch of pedantic cowards, but at least they have tried to capture the essence of an existence whose power and titanic beauty they can only imagine the immensity of.

A snap of the fingers and the poor posters are nothing but parchment ashes carried by the freezing wind of the dead willow forest. Emma takes a deep breath and it's a great day again. She walks and leaps like a floating shadow through gigantic, twisted rotten roots, messing hunters' traps to slow them down, making muddy the roads through which enemy knights cross to mock them, erasing kingdom messenger marks on tree trunks to make them get lost in the dark forest, all with the most innocent of smiles, like a child in almost irrepressible antics. When she finally gets tired, she picks up the pinkish bunch of flowers in the vivid surroundings of the forest exit and strolls peacefully in green fields, the only sound of which is a symphony of wind that drapes her silver hair, releasing it from the severe grip, and makes she seems less of the abominable creature than she actually can be.

While she closes her eyes and breathes the scent of fire, mist and night toward the way home, the rosy bouquet in her hands slowly becomes darkened.

The dark castle is at the top of a misty mountain and from there it is possible to glimpse almost the entire Enchanted Forest. Raised through powerful magic in basalt and volcanic rock, the construction appears to touch the clouds above and plunge into the mist below. The gigantic walls are guarded by loyal centaur archers with poisoned arrows in their quivers and spy owls always on the alert.

The four watch towers are inhabited by diamond-eyed seers with silks wrapped around their bony bodies. All flags wave red in the wind with the blood of past enemies. The shaft that surrounds the entire structure is assisted by the ostentatious thousand-toothed serpent under water and the drawbridge through the atrium, with its chains as bright as the actual silverware of the royal crockery, is kept safe by the brave huntsman, the castle's only human, day and night. And in the majestic gardens, filled with apple orchards and rose bushes and moonstone arches, where the enemy would find it easy to go unnoticed, the devouring chimera strolls in hiding.

Although this is the home of a Queen known as Evil and the creature known as Dark One, the interior of the castle maintains its magnitude on the outside.

From the blazing fire in the dungeons as if hell was rising to the earth to the ghostly paintings that pass between themselves. From the doors that led to a desperate void to the doors that invited with gentle whispers and led to chasms so dense that you could hear the breaking of bones when you reached the bottom. And the main court hall with thrones of crocodile leather and floating torches without iron supports to keep it suspended. The Queen's vault, forged in silver and marble, guardian of all ancient magic. The campanile whose rusty bell clatters the ground underfoot. The enchanted dome where a twisted dagger lies that must never be touched. The dark corridors with their armours that walk and watch at dusk.

Descending to the east of the mountain the port also rests through the fog, where vessels sailed by no one remain moored to the pier, lurking creatures swim freely and mermaids sing funerals, where the water crashes against the rocks, sharpening them, like a long row of teeth waiting for a prey.

It is the refuge of what the outside world calls The Cradle of Evil, where thunders roar like profane melodies, lights take on colour and shape, ferocious animals make their nests, and where any unsuspecting passerby perishes as they approach.

For this Queen and her Dark One, it's just... home.

Regina Mills is not usually very attentive to people in general. People are constantly chattering nonsense, begging for favours they don't deserve, suggesting absurdities, contesting without clarity of intellect, always so excessive, always so exhausting. She's sitting on her war throne and the counselors are there talking all these foolishness that she's not really listening to. The enemy kingdom has been executing cunning movements, crawling around her world like an inconvenient plague, but all she can think of as the afternoon slowly fades is Emma Swan. Her daring dark sweet creature, the only one she endures to listen to, who should be parroting at the gates by now.

She raises her dark brown eyes and fixates it appreciatively on their grandiose bronze frame painting on the wall over the burning hearth, her imposing pose on the burgundy velvet divan, the navy blue dress of the same texture with its glittering pearls, and Emma standing with her typical shiny leather cloak, her silver hair curling on her left shoulder and one pale hand on the Queen's shoulder and the other on the darkened excalibur taken on her waist belt.

"Your Majesty?" Murmurs the naval counselor, Killian Jones, with his strong accent. "Are you even listening to us?"

Regina rolls her eyes. He may be the most skillful and brave captain of all seven seas, but she despises him endlessly.

“Swan is nowhere to be seen...” Note the knight chief paladin, the renegade Prince James, cautiously looking around. "Is that why your Majesty seems distracted?"

His twin brother is the king of the enemy kingdom. It's like comedy.

He is like a jester.

“How dare you behave so disrespectfully to your Queen?” The first Magic counselor, Maleficent, dragon-keeper, stands on the table with her flaming staff.

Regina almost smiles. They have been best friends for years now.

“Finally a bit of insolence!” Rises next to her the second Magic counselor, Zelena, the wicked witch of the West, with her green skin and her emerald earrings. "With your permission, Your Majesty, let me summon my flying monkeys to bite this little man's throat."

The witch is almost a sister to her: They agree on nothing, but she is always there to fight for her and defend her.

"Childish demeanours." Sighs the sky vigilant, Peter Pan.

Well, he is theoretically fifteen years old...

“Enough.” Regina's voice rumbles and everyone goes silent and resign themselves to their seats, maps and mock-ups of tiny marble shuddering on the round table with the thunder of the command. “You all have your labours to do.” She sweeps her eyes in disgust at her downcast counselors. “I await for your detailed reports within three days. Do not fail me.”

One by one they leave the table with silent obeisances and suddenly she is alone again, in the great hall filled with dark furniture, endless tapestries and pointed stone arches, the magic mirror sparkling in the center. She takes a deep breath, materializing a glass of cider and sitting on the divan, the same as the painting, the vibrant light of the fire in the hearth illuminating her austere and tired face.

Quietness, however and as ever, doesn't last long.

Emma has always been like a tornado in reprehensible ways, echoing laughter and exaggeratedly loud steps, but today she excels. Regina can feel her approaching as if she comes through the air and the ground, a resounding sound in the distance, shuddering under her feet, inside and through her heart in a rhythm of red cavalry. She who makes all interactions and flattery worthwhile. She who brings storm and darkness and appeases everyone around in a chaos that only they can control and understand.

Regina can almost feel her disappearing in her black smoke from the castle lobby to the room in a matter of seconds, the figure in black robes appearing kneeling in front of her with a bouquet of dead and twisted flowers in her hands.

"Greetings, my Queen." Emma opens the brightest smile.

"Dark One." Regina arches an eyebrow, reluctantly accepting the flowers.

"It's so bright out there, it's disgusting." Emma dramatically shrugs like a thwarted child. "I missed you. Where are your counselors?" She looks around curiously at the empty chairs in the center of the room.

"They were boring me.” Her straight answer doesn't hide her notorious discontent.

"You are sorrowful." Emma unwraps. "What is it that you desire? Poisoned apples? A ballet of crows and bats in the tallest tower of the castle? Fairies in tears? More cider? Anything."

"Actually..." Regina sets aside the flowers on the divan, rising to demonstrate the seriousness of the deal, Emma standing with her hands behind her back patiently. "I'd like to know where you've been during this afternoon, Emma Swan. Because if I know you well, and you're aware, darling, I do, I'm eager to confirm my inconvenient suspicious."

"I was..." The Dark One surprisingly swallows hard. "I was in the forest of dead willows. Just strolling."

"Emma..."

"It was incredible, Regina." She tries to appease with an almost pure smile. "Darkness is everywhere. Not even Snow White herself could clear those woods. I bet she would suffocate as soon as she enter the pitch-black."

"How many times, Emma Swan?" Regina crosses her arms threateningly.

"There was no one around." She rolls her eyes, tired of justifying herself. “It was safe.”

"Charming and his knights have doubled the patrol in the past few months."

"I know. I'm not a child. I can defend myself."

"Then stop acting like one!"

"Don't treat me as one of your counselors, Regina. I don't answer to you."

As soon as the defensive response sounds, Emma needs to jump to escape the fireball, which leaves its burning sparks in the bronze frame of their painting on the wall. Her eyes go incredulous from the painting to the queen, who remains with her hand raised and trembling, conjuring the next hostile flame.

"You will answer to me as your Queen, Emma Swan!"

Emma is not intimidated. "Then you'll have to make me, Your Majesty!"

It is a carnival of fireballs and black smoke across the hall. Regina more and more furious, Emma more and more committed to frustrating her.

"I'm trying to protect you!"

"I'm trying to keep walking freely for now!"

"Why do you have to be so inconsequential?!"

"Why do you have to be such a controller?!"

"Controller?!" Regina roars at the height of her anger, finally stopping, Emma at a safe distance from her, ready to disappear again if necessary. But the Queen frowns darkly and materializes the silver weapon in her hands, the name shining like a death sentence. "We both know how I can be unstoppably controlling, don't we, Emma Swan?!"

Immediate effect suddenly imprisons them. Emma's green eyes widen in horror and Regina's red lips part, trembling in regret.

The gloomy silence that usually comforts them echoes like a tremendous void.

"You would never..." Emma whispers, taking a step back. "Would you?"

"Emma..." Regina lowers the dagger, unable to retract herself.

"Now you answer to me. Would you use my dagger against me?" She doesn't bother to pretend to be composed, fear and disappointment colliding in the expression on her pale face as a revelation.

"No." Regina whispers back. "Of course not. Never."

It's like a curse to her that Emma doesn't seem convinced.

"I'm going for a walk." Head down, Emma closes even more in herself. "I'll join you later."

"Emma..." She still can't formulate an appropriate apology.

"I saw the parchments today. In the forest." An almost imperceptible smile appears on Emma's face. "They're offering a reward in gold, as if any gold is worth the risk of facing us." She keeps moving away, as if she's crawling into the shadows. "But they made you so terribly beautiful..."

Without further words, she disappears into her black smoke and leaves a queen in contained tears behind.

Regina is not used to giving in since she established her power. Giving in and softening is dangerous, everything about emotions is a risk. Since the coronation she has kept this truth in mind, but Emma was not yet there when she claimed the crown. Emma was not yet the night devouring her, the storm sweeping through her, the chaos of the world caressing her. And even after so long, their arguments still circulated around the same challenge: the inability to give in.

And giving in, in the end, started out more like the act itself than a sensation. Inside she thought of letting Emma get tired of her recklessness in some corner of the castle until she came crawling back hungry, because she is always hungry, and all she would find at the great table would be a banquet of spiders, worms, geckos, dragonflies and flies drenched in cockroach blood. That was the feeling, from a foolish punishment to a foolish circumstance.

But the act collapses and transforms the frivolous hurt feeling, Regina orders a decent and juicy feast and walks slowly through the staircases, the torches flickering in her face, the paintings splashing and whispering her fate, climbing up to the highest tower, where she knew he would find her. In the empty room, she moves her fingers and disappears in purplish smoke, reappearing on the roof, the giant moonlight blinding beautifully before her.

For a second Regina allows herself to contemplate the night sky, until a soft sigh makes her turn to find Emma crouched on the peak of the tower, boots balancing on the pointed edge, arms crossed tight against her body and chin on her knees. And dazzles the Queen who possesses all the power of the Enchanted Forest, that strange creature, too pale, her hair like the light of the gigantic moon loose, floating in the wind, sorrow eyes, so sorrowful that she seems to retain all the melancholy in the world in a pair of green orbs. It hurts so much, because it is not a sorrow like the one Regina always carried inside her, it is a pure and childish sadness, pulling out of her a compassion that she didn't even know she still had.

The Queen looks at her own hands and thinks among the equidistants in which she now dwells, the infinite power and the fire and the bloody battle and the nourishing darkness in Emma Swan's arms, and suddenly, just like that, she simply knows that she has already given in for her.

"I would shatter my own heart before hurting you."

The whisper goes through the night and the wind stops as if reverencing the deep voice that resonates almost delicately in the freezing air. Emma's eyes widen for a moment before she gracefully raises her neck, like a curious child, and her eyebrows curve in opposite diagonals, an expression of understanding and acceptance.

“I know." She nods slowly, rising like a majestic swan over the pointed edge, the balance inexplicably perfect, and extends her pale long-fingered hand in a silent invitation.

Immediately Regina's small tanned hand is on hers and she feels the roof disappear under her feet as if she can fly. Emma lifts her and holds her by the waist without the slightest effort, the embrace keeping her floating against her and the fingers intertwined in the hands that joined.

"I would burn this world to ashes before I do you any harm, Emma." She repeats her truth, needing Emma to believe and never forget.

"I know." This time Emma smiles, leaning her forehead over hers.

Regina sighs in the gentle gesture and narrows her eyes. "Will you always be careful?" She whispers and Emma laughs as if she already knew that the queen would not truly back down easily.

"Always." She nods. “Besides, you'll always feel my magic reacting when I'm in trouble, won't you? Remember when I still didn't know how use it well and I fell off my dragon, getting stuck by my cape on the roof of the east tower?"

"How could I forget such recklessness?" Regina rolls her eyes.

"It was an accident." Emma corrects unpretentiously. "But you knew it the moment it happened and you saved me before I fell."

"And then I didn't say a word to you for an entire day." The Queen murmurs bitterly.

"Truth." Emma laughs heartily. "That was much worse than almost falling off the east tower."

Regina joins her in laughter, although much more discreet, and holds the pale face with reverent and gentle force, sliding her fingers in the softness of pure marble, leaning back a few inches just to look at her. And Emma knows what she is thinking, knows that suddenly she is punishing herself for her behaviour and torturing herself, like her mother used to make her feel. And so the Dark One lets go of the intertwining of hands and holds the sides of her waist firmly to take her lips, all the reconciliation sealed in cold skins and warm mouths and the wind again dancing mystical around them.

Regina walks away briefly and appreciates the dizzy smile offered to her. “I figured out how to redeem myself with you for my fury earlier, my dear.” She keeps her close, still caressing her now flushed face. "You and I are going to hunt."

“Hunting?” The green eyes light up in the darkness childishly. "Just the two of us?"

“And why not?” She lifts one of Emma's hand from her waist to kiss her wrist. “It's been a while since we hunted together. The sheriff will be collecting exorbitant taxes in Nottingham tomorrow for Charming and Snow White war campaign.” The names are like acid in her throat. "It's the perfect opportunity, don't you think, my dear?"

Emma smiles like a triumphant feline and Regina closes her eyes at the sensation of having their darkness moving together, the masterful delight of what awaits her the next morning. Then the Dark One, in the most voracious contrast to her own existence, laughs happily and holds her tight to whirl their two in the air, lightly and fluently on the toe of a single boot at the peak of the tower, the argument long forgotten when they disappear into the black smoke and Regina finds herself sitting at one end of the great table, a glass of muscadine in front of her, while Emma is at the other end devouring manchet and pottage, roasted civet, fruit and cheese, glasses of caudle and ale together, and everything she can chew at once.

The Queen smiles and rests her chin on her fist with her elbow on the table, fascinated admiring the hungry little beast.

After all, it's always an incomparable deifical delight to watch Emma Swan hunting.

Although it is a sunny dawn, Emma awakens in an excellent mood, and she almost never sleeps. Regina is calmly sitting in front of the dressing table, straightening her belt over her hunting pants and under the velvety red cloak, admiring the shiny leather boots, skilfully combing her long brown hair, sliding the red pigment categorically on her lips, patiently choosing the perfect glove. On the other hand, the Dark One jumps out of bed and spins through the corridors, chattering with the walking paintings and armours, running to the stable and getting the horses ready, clogging up more food in the kitchen, making the servants hold the laugh. She woke up so refreshed and excited that even a basket full of juicy apples she picked up from the Queen's orchard.

Regina couldn't care less. In fact, she appreciates her lover's frantic behaviour so much, which may seem strange, considering her own, always so elegant and composed and terribly silent at times. Having Emma around always brings her to this overwhelming sensation of breathing the freshest air in the middle of a coal storm, always unpredictable, never boring, dangerous and vibrant and delightful.

For Emma, secretly, it can be quite different, for doesn't remember her life before she became the Dark One. Everything she has are turbulent dreams, deep scars on her skin, as if she had been flogged for most of her life, and a power whose control was almost impossible to achieve. So Regina came like this light into her darkness, but nothing like angels shining from the skies or warm rays of sun, it is a light of fire, devastating and stable, engulfing her in its flames in a redemption that neutralizes all the torment of a past without a trace.

The huntsman receives a day off and waves happily as they pull on the reins and the horses shoot like winged arrows across the drawbridge. Emma always rides more slowly, watching the freedom overflowing from her Queen, the wind in her long hair, the triumphant smile across the wild ground, nothing in her path, unstoppable and fearless through a world that condemns everything she is.

They don't slow down until they reach the woods outside Nottingham. The village, which is always full of minstrels and dancers, retains a morbid and unsettling silence, denouncing that the sheriff must have already started the collection and would soon be sitting in his carriage with the spoils. Known only as Keith, he is a disgusting and cruel man in leather robes, acting on behalf of King Charming and Queen Snow White, plaguing peasants with the patriotic excuse of the need to obtain gold and supplies for the royal knights.

Under ordinary circumstances, they would just scare the sheriff's men and make him an example by turning him into a pig or turning his head around and making him scream and spin around himself in despair, but there is something in the air, as if the wind is revealing danger, passing through them like warning voices. They leave the horses on the banks of the nearest river and walk in an unusual silence, behind trees and shrubs, smelling blood running down the grass across the land.

All the peasants are crestfallen and lined up in front of their huts, each family, each hunter and trader and farmer, the weaver, the apothecary and the baker, each clergyman and the blacksmith and the carpenter, the cordwainer and the clerk, all men, women and children, a curved, terrified line that seems to be barely breathing. Even the village chief, an archer named Robert Locksley, bowed obediently to the sheriff's tyranny.

"Please, Sir, that is all we can offer." Locksley dares to speak. "Winter will come soon, the children are hungry and..."

"Silence!" A whip is cracked in the air and interrupts the man, making him stagger and fall backwards, supported by his eldest daughter while his wife holds the youngest son firmly. "Do I look like I care about your children?" The sheriff roared and snorted, his yellow teeth gleaming. "This is not even half of what you owe us!"

"We owe nothing to you!" The eldest daughter, Robyn, a skilled young archer, stands between them to protect her father. "It is not our war!"

Hidden in the woods, Regina instinctively looks at Emma. She can feel the magic, the slightest trace of change, vibrating like an omen, the pale skin starting to flake and the eyes sparkling dangerously.

"You should teach your child to hold her tongue, Locksley." The sheriff scoffs, his predatory eyes boiling at the girl. "Or maybe I should hold it for you?" He arches his eyebrows suggestively, making the girl take a step back. "Lads!" His men approach. "We are about to teach these insolent peasants a lesson!"

"No!" Robert Locksley tries to get up, but immediately two men immobilize him like a desperate animal on the ground, twisting his arms back. Keith grabs the girl's golden hair and holds her body against his, laughing cruelly. Robyn tries to break free, snarling and shaking, but he is too strong. Locksley's wife, Marian, takes the youngest son away from the fight and tries to run for the girl, but the sheriff's men continue to block, holding her to the ground with Robert.

"Please, Sir, she didn't mean to offend you!" Marian whines. "I beg you, Sir, free her and you can take whatever your men can carry!"

"Oh, I don't know, Maid Marian..." The sheriff continues to laugh wildly, leaning over and trying to lick the girl's cheek. "I could leave it all and just carry this precious little whore!"

Everything seems too slow, but it takes a matter of seconds. Emma leaps out of hiding, scaly skin shining under the sun, black smoke billowing around her. Regina follows her in the same instinct with which she guessed that something was about to burst out of her. In the blink of an eye Emma is behind the sheriff and all the peasants exclaim in terror and surprise. Keith frees Robyn, who falls violently into the grass, looking up at her.

"Dark One..." She whispers and crawls back to her father, but there is less fear in her voice than anyone would expect.

Emma couldn't even hear it. In a brief flick of her fingers, the sheriff was enveloped in black smoke, kicking to get away, horror paling his face, perhaps a horror he never experienced, as if she could enter his mind and melt him from the inside out. Fury prints her contorted face, almost as if she is aching with it.

The sheriff's men draw their swords, but it is enough for the Queen to raise her hands and they are suspended in the air, unarmed and protesting in fear, when she easily moves again and their bodies collide above the ground, the sound of bones breaking echoing in the field with agonized shouts. And Emma remains staring at the sheriff, tears streaming down his face.

Then he simply stops fighting and screaming.

The sun seems to disappear, the sky calling to darkness.

Blood drips from his nostrils, comes from his throat, coughing, splattering her pale face like a sloppy painting. She stares at him without words or actions, just her eyes of death in his dying eyes. He screams one last time, a deadly howl, his body shaking and softening, she finally letting go to have him fall at her feet in a pool of blood and flesh without breath, without movement, without life.

The wind is the only sound that breaks the silence, coming as a comfort around Emma, sweeping away the scent of blood and the horrifying echoes. She takes a deep breath, looking briefly at Regina, who nods at her as if to say that everything is fine, and then back around them. Terror is in the eyes of all the inhabitants of the village.

Roland, Locksley's youngest son, is the first living being to move, Robyn helping Marian and Robert to their feet. The little boy looks at Emma with curiosity, no hostility. Locksley quickly staggers to catch the child and hold him in his arms, not surprising her.

"Son!" He exclaims shakily at the boy. "Do not go near… this!"

"It's the Dark One!" A peasant points, her voice tearing with fear.

"It's the Evil Queen!" Another manifests, the same fear, almost despair.

"She murdered the sheriff!" A priest screams as if she has taken an innocent life.

Emma sighs deeply and unexpectedly lowers her head to look at the corpse at her feet. Regina ignores the other frightened voices and whispers, approaching to place herself before Emma's eyes, using a velvety handkerchief to wipe the dirty blood from her face, finding a new melancholy in her green eyes.

"Thank you..." A whisper comes from the terrified crowd and Emma looks behind Regina to find it. Robyn is close to them, her trembling mother holding her arm outstretched for fear that she will be too close. There are tears in the girl's eyes, just as there is fear, but at the same time a gratitude that Emma has never known other than Regina. And something else. Something incomprehensible.

_Something like forgiveness._

"Thank you." She whispers again, coming back to fall into her mother's arms.

Regina turns to Emma again and holds her marble face, caressing it without caring about the flaming eyes of revulsion and fear around her. "Come my love." She murmurs against Emma's cold lips, resting her foreheads. "I will carry you home."

Purplish smoke covers them and in an instant they disappear, leaving Nottingham behind.

_The first time their paths crossed years ago, the Queen's retinue was exploring an area whose flora, according to a wanderer woodward, was mysteriously perishing. Regina would never forget the sight, Rocinante neighing and trotting backwards, Maleficent lifting her staff and preparing to attack, as did Killian and James with their swords, but all of them stopped the instant the Queen's voice commander echoed for them to wait._

_They were in open field, a small realm of wild roses that should have been gleaming under the gentle spring sun, but that seemed to wither by the second, surrounde by a shadow of gray clouds above concentrated only in that limited space. In the midst of the flowers was the creature responsible for the fading of the flora, crouched like an animal, dressed in dirty old rags, scaly pale skin, gray hair, intense green eyes turning cornered to the retinue while the brown rabbit's carcass fell before her and still fresh blood dripped from her mouth and long nails._

_The Queen's defenders were alarmed and suspicious, so submerged in their fear for that unknown creature that they didn't even notice the fire raging in their sovereign's eyes as she descended from the saddle and ignored the protests, walking determinedly and slowly through the dying flowers. The creature cringed when she approached, pulling a silver dagger out of the rags she wore, holding it firmly against her chest._

_Regina would never be able to explain what happened. As if by the magnanimous strength of an inescapable instinct, she held out her gloved hand and waited, she waited and waited and knelt over the dead flowers, watching as the creature stared at her and seemed to be waiting for something as well. And when she was about to give up, wondering if she should leave her alone, she watched the careful movement of the creature’s arm, the silver dagger being entrusted to her hand._

_"Emma Swan." The Queen read the inscription and looked back at her. "Is that your name?"_

_"I think so." The creature's voice sounded hoarse, as if she hadn't used words for a long time. "I can't remember when it was the last time."_

_"Your Majesty." James swallowed, barely approaching. "We must ride back to the castle."_

_Regina frowned as the creature tilted her head to look at the counselors and, as if it were the most natural thing to do, the Queen stood up and sheathed the dagger in her own belt, offering her hand once again._

_For some reason she would never be able to explain either, Emma Swan accepted it._

Now they are here again, in the open field filled with vivid wild roses. The dusk of the last days of spring is always darker and governed by massive and persistent gusts, and Emma stands with her hands on her back, her gray hair floating, her eyes fixed on the flowers around her feet. Regina is feeding the horses fresh carrots, but her attention belongs to the creature still tormented and so simply beautiful, lost in the middle of the flora as if she were part of the landscape, the only dark shape surrounded by color and light.

The Queen sighs and approaches to gently relieve the furrows on Emma's forehead, holding her face and searching her eyes for the reason for the sulky expression, because they are used to fear, to rejection, to death and disbelief in helpless eyes, and everything is in unruffled order, because as far as she remembers, they enjoy this chaos of emotions.

"You are breathtaking when you give no mercy to those whose mercy is not deserved, my precious Emma."

Emma finally seems to recognize her presence, her eyebrows curving again in that movement of opposing diagonals with melancholy understanding and acceptance, her austere face softening to admire her Queen.

“I despise humans like him, but I felt so much.” She stares her trembling hands landing on Regina's waist. “Regrets, fears, pleas, resentment. It was all in those unholy eyes.”

"Tell me how to clear your mind of this unworthy memory." The Queen orders, but it sounds like a sweet request as she caresses the silver strands of her floating hair.

The Dark One ponders for a moment, opening up a brilliant mischievous grin, looking around her as if she measures time and space. Regina waits for an absurd suggestion, but she wouldn't mind giving Emma what she desires if she continues to smile like a majestic beast.

"Would you waltz with me? Here and this moment?" She shrugs, pouting.

As if she needed to ask.

Regina arches with the arm that goes around her waist, sliding her hand on Emma's brawny shoulder, letting her take her other hand. She breathes and exhales sharply, a shiver as Emma's freezing face rests on hers, their eyes closing, surrendered by the colossal encounter of overflowing magic between them.

And it actually blooms in the purest magic.

It begins reverent and slow, boots on the grass, bodies entwined, eyes still closed lost in the friendly darkness of their existence. The course of the wind changes, the temperature brings the unexpected heat, the fire cries out from within the Queen, and the flowers begin to perish gradually under their feet, darkening and melting and the petals falling apart under the synchronized steps.

Like a mystical ritual, they drag the night unintended and the world around plunges into the shadows of their will. And then Emma steps back an inch to look at her and laughs at her, the only one who has ever seen and heard her laughing, and the Queen's heart runs wildly like a steed across a plain, the power touched, the flowers that fall apart begin to disintegrate, burning in tiny sparks that pop over them, fire, clean and flickering fire appearing and disappearing and consuming without hurting.

Emma holds her tight and they swirl at the speed of a whirlwind, laughing exuberantly in sweat and brief shared kisses, foreheads, noses, cheeks, necks, as they compose a graveyard of flowers beneath. And suddenly a melody seems to echo around them, howls of wolves that were once men, raven wings and bats drumming overhead, the shouts of dragons roaring everything, the crackle of an invisible fire and the burst of shadows that take shape and seem to join them and waltz in pairs.

They swirl and swirl and they cannot take their stunned eyes from each other, green and brown intertwined in the darkness that belongs to them, all the memories and the lack of memories vanishing in a moment of glorious euphoria.

And then, they just stop, trying to balance on each other, Emma laughing heartily with her face sunk between the neck and shoulder of the Queen who caresses her collarbone, gasps sounding, the cold freezing again and refreshing the heated bodies.

Regina holds her face again, all the torment fragmented into the greenish. Emma pulls herself together and returns the soft touch on her cheek, perhaps the softest touch ever offered to the Queen, an unparalleled devotion that they share only with each other.

"Regina..." Emma whispers. "Do you think there could be a time and place where you and I are heroes?"

Regina tilts her head, laughing condescendingly. "Why do you ask?" She fends off some silver strands lost on her face after the waltz. "Would you like to be a hero?"

Emma allows herself to think about the perspective and perhaps appreciate it. She reflects on all the things they have done and on the things she can count they have done to them. She remembers their home and those who are loyal to them. She absorbs the meaning of all the magic and the tip of the hostile spear of the furious enemies. The arguments they face, the hurt, the scars, the love and laughter and the pleasure and Regina, Regina Mills, the one who is known as the Evil Queen, and she knows that Regina is all that matters through darkness or light, good or evil, fragile or eternal.

"I would be anything if I could stay by your side."

The whispered sweet confession makes the Queen close her eyes and feel the sting of tears on her eyelids. She nestles in Emma's cold chest, the sacred haven where nothing could ever disturb her, and sighs overwhelmed with her love. "Just sweep me home, my bittersweet Dark One."

Emma smiles, kissing her hair and holding her waist to never let go. “As you wish, my tempestuous Evil Queen.”

As they disappear in black smoke and the horses follow carried away in the purplish, the darkness slowly disappears from the sky to yield to the evening twilight, no more shadows or sounds of the creatures of the night, no more dancers, no more fire.

And the wild roses, one by one, petal by petal, reborn in colour and scent all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! See you guys soon. :)
> 
> Find me on twitter: @dokkstormur


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